Lies
by defectueux
Summary: Sometimes what you believe, isn't always true. And sometimes what you think is right, is wrong.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **FanFiction... Why must you be so addicting? I really do have so many things I should be doing other than this, but I simply can't help myself. This will be my first D/H, so bear with me through this one, and hopefully it will turn out all right. I'm portraying Hermione a bit different in this story than most people do, so if some things don't line up with what _you_ think she's like, I'm very sorry, but I hope you will grow to love the Hermione I have characterized. Reviews are so helpful- I lovelovelove receiving constructive criticism, because I love to improve. Anyways, here's the prologue, I hope you all enjoy! -Madelyn.

**Prologue**

I was a blessing.

At least that's what my parents had always told me. They had said all too often how loved I was, and how beautiful and how smart and how kind and how ambitious. They had tried for so long to have a child, with so many failed attempts, and had finally produced a strong, healthy little girl. I was fawned over, as any single child is, and spoiled with words of affection as well as materialistic items. I grew up thinking I was nothing short of perfect, flawless.

Maybe that's why it was so hard to believe that someone as _contemptible_ as Ronald Weasley was about to walk away from me.

"-but, you see, things just don't feel the same anymore. We've lost our-our spark, I guess you could say. I'll always love you, Mione, I will, but more as a sister than a girlfriend. I don't really know what else to say... I-you- D'you understand where I'm coming from?" He was stumbling over his words so artlessly, and I could see him picking at a loose string on his robes as he spoke. I didn't get it, I really, really didn't, and that just doesn't happen to me. I always knew the answer, and the correct one at that, but now nothing was making sense. He should be rolling over and thanking his lucky stars that I loved him back- because I did, really I did. His bright red hair, his freckles, his slightly crooked front teeth, his clumsiness, even. But as he said those words, so horribly rehearsed and clichéd, everything I loved seemed to disappear, transform into something awful.

In fact, it felt like I had opened my eyes.

I had opened my eyes, and they had befell this- this boy who had told me he loved so many times, told me I was lovely, and pretty, and brilliant. I had believed every word, was there ever a reason not to? I_ was_ lovely and pretty, maybe not in the overwhelming, eye-catching way, and I knew that, but I _was _lovely, and pretty. I had grown to fit well with, what used to be, my oversized teeth, and they were straight now. My hair was still unruly, but in a much more organized disarray sort of way, and I tucked one strand behind my left ear, now.

Was it possible that everyone- my parents, Ron, everyone- had lied to me? Parents are supposed to say those things, aren't they? But Ron, what had made him say it? Was it- could it be- pity?

"Hermione, are you okay? Aren't you going to say something?" His voice was feeble, like he wanted to run for the door right this very second and avoid me for the rest of my life.

"Yes, Ronald, I will say something if you so desire it," I spat, my voice filled with venom. I was so, _so_ angry, angrier than I thought I could ever be. The funny thing was, it was more at the fact that I had been lied to, that I really wasn't as good as I had thought I was.

"Why did you lie to me?" I blurted out, tears stinging that back of my eyes, my anger so suddenly intermixing with the emotions provoked by my breaking heart.

"What? Lie to you?"

"Yes, lie to me! Why did you tell me I was lovely, and pretty, and brilliant, and that you loved me, if really, in truth, you didn't mean it at all?" My words were all slurred together, and I'm not quite sure if he understood half of it, but I had to keep talking, or I would start bawling, like a child. And I wasn't about to cry in front of Ronald Weasley.

"We were best friends, doesn't that mean anything to you? Best friends are honest with each other, they tell each other the truth, and all you did was lie. How could you, really, Ron, how could you? Was it hard for you? Having to lie so often, faking all of those emotions that I actually believed you felt, that I really did feel, was-"

"Hermione, Hermione! Stop, okay, I didn't lie to you," he said, reaching for me as if to comfort me. He sat one hand awkwardly on my shoulder and left it there, looking at me as if I was a lost puppy- so much sympathy in his eyes.

That was when I realized the tears had spilt over and I had been shouting, no, screaming at him.

"I didn't lie about any of it," he repeated therapeutically, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. I was frozen with fury and animosity, and as he kissed me all I wanted to do was push him across the room as hard as I could and run away, far, far away where no one could see me cry.

Then he just walked away, and I was all alone with my thoughts.

And alone with my thoughts is probably the most dangerous place I could be left.


	2. Chapter I

**Chapter 1**

Something broke inside me that day.

The realization that I wasn't as perfect as I had once thought hit me with a force so tremendous that I was physically, and mentally, in pain. My heart hurt too, so much, because I had given myself to him and he had thrown it back in my face. I sat curled up in a ball on the cold stone floor of the room of requirement, which was exactly what I required right now: a place to hide. My self esteem had plummeted to hell itself, and Satin was toying with it, stretching it so thin that it hardly existed.

I couldn't bear to think about Ron, and that horrible red hair, and those disgusting freckles, and the jagged slant of his ugly, ugly, _ugly _teeth, oh, and his clumsiness, that extreme lack of coordination that was so unbecoming. And the thought of him going to Harry and telling him about how I had lost it, how I had cried and yelled and gone insane, when he had broken up with me... There was no other word to describe that feeling except for utterly embarrassing. The worst part was that it hadn't even appeared as if he was the least bit sad to be ending things between us. He had seemed, well, relieved. Had I really been that hard to get along with? If he detested the idea of being with me, why had he instigated the whole relationship in the first place? These were questions I would never get the answer to, because I could never talk to him again. At least, not on a personal level. And maybe that was an immature conclusion, but it was also the easiest, and right now, what I needed, was a simple solution to all of this.

Normally I would be the bigger person. I would smile at him in the hallway, continue to let him copy my notes after class, sit across from him at meal time and pretend like nothing was wrong. But I couldn't find the strength inside of me to do that. Hell, I couldn't even find the strength to consider it as an option. I hated the person I was being right now, the girl who cries uncontrollably over a boy, and who insults him just to make herself feel better, the girl who is used to getting everything she wants and when she doesn't she throws a temper tantrum, but I honestly couldn't control it. It was my inner spoilt child coming out, while my mature, knowledgable self crumbled down around me.

After a long time, I wasn't sure how long, I was sure I had shed every tear I had inside me. Then one more fell, and I sat up and wiped my swollen face. My body ached from being in the same position for so long, but I didn't mind it. If I focused on the aching of my joints, everything else seemed to fade in the background.

A fire was crackling warmly in the fireplace, and the sound was quite mollifying. I focused on that, as well. And it seemed that my brain capacity had shrunk, because between the aches and the sound of the fire, I had no room to think of anything else, and I was glad of it. I could feel myself drifting off, and it felt so sweet, so nice...

I came to quite abruptly when something hit me in the stomach with great force. My eyes snapped open, still swollen, and I sat up quickly despite the ache in my bones. One hand flew habitually to my stomach, where it felt as if a bruise was blossoming.

"My God!" The voice was high, snobbish, and it belonged to that of Pansy Parkinson. If she hadn't been distinguishable by that trait, I would have recognized that synthetic blonde hair anywhere. She regained her balance after, apparently, tripping over me, and spun her head around. When she spoke, after taking in my swollen eyes and bewildered expression, her voice was both incredulous and amused. "Hermione Granger? What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"Oh, that's quite an apology for kicking me with those two left feet of yours, Pansy," I retorted, my patience all but gone. I stood up, careful not to let her see how much it hurt to stand. I didn't need another reason for her to laugh at me.

"Well maybe if you hadn't been laying in the middle of the floor, it wouldn't have happened. You'd think someone with grades like yours would have a little more common sense," she laughed breathlessly, as if blown away by her own come-backs, and swiped her bangs out of her face. "I heard about you and Ron. What a shame."

There it was, the stabbing pain as I remembered why I was actually here. I pulled it together, for the moment anyway, because no way was Pansy going to get to see me at my worst, my most vulnerable.

"A shame? More like a relief, really. But, how is it any of your business, Pansy?"

"A relief, was it? You're a poor liar, Hermione. You made it everyones business when you shouted so loudly that the whole castle could hear you. You didn't think Hogwarts was made with sound proof walls, now did you? Everyone thought you were so strong, they thought you were unbreakable. But now they know you aren't. You're just a little girl, and now you're a little girl with a broken heart." She was smiling this bitter smile. She was getting so much joy out of seeing me like this, knowing my emotions were beaten to a pulp. She was _abhorrent. _How cruel was this girl?

I pursed my lips, not willing to let the tension out of any muscle in my body, because if I did, I'm not sure what would have happened. Tears would have fallen, strangled sobs would have been freed, my wand would be out and the girl in front of me would surely be dead.

She laughed one more throaty laugh before saying: "Get out, I have some- business that's to be done here. Can't have you in the way."

I didn't know what to say. I had no witty repartee on the tip of my tongue, as usual. Oh, she must feel on top of the world right now, finally having the leverage she's always needed to see me break, finally being able to silence the girl who always had something to say.

Well it worked.

I turned on my heal to leave, and made it about half way before my path was obstructed by yet another Slytherin. His tall, thin frame and unnaturally platinum blonde hair were so distinguishable it took only a fraction of a second for me to realize who it was.

"Granger?" His voice was as if he had been sleeping only moments before, and it cracked and rasped in all the right places. "What are-"

"Fuck off, Malfoy. I'm leaving, that's all that matters, isn't it?" It was meant to sound rude, but it sounded more like a desperate cry for help. I walked faster, with more purpose, away from him, from Pansy, from the comfort of the room of requirement that had been destroyed by the petty, dispassionate air of the two worst people I had ever known.

I wasn't sure if I had gotten passed Malfoy before the tears started to fall again, all I could do was pray that I had. He would use it against me, him and Pansy.

So, I walked. I walked, and walked, and walked, up stairs, through corridors, by windows. I didn't stop, I couldn't, because nothing was okay.

Ron was gone, and he would probably take Harry with him. I wasn't as good as I had thought, so immature of me to think I was so above everyone else, so much better. Malfoy and Pansy, the two people I couldn't stand the most, had seen me in a way I had never even seen myself. And, so it seemed, everyone knew how I had shattered, how I had nothing left, not even books, because books wouldn't help me out of a situation like this. Nothing could help me out of a situation like this.

So, I ran. I ran, and ran, and ran, everywhere, anywhere. I didn't-couldn't- stop, because nothing was okay.

And I didn't think it would ever be okay again.


End file.
